I mean I didn’t REALLY think it was, but when you get a stabbing pain in your left breast like you’re being pierced with a warm dagger, you perk up a little and wonder. For a freightened second or two I checked my left arm, took my own pulse and then realized that the shortness of breath was because I was holding it.
It’s not my fault. Every time I turn on the TV I see that I should be on a different medication. So it’s no wonder I have developed a slight case of hypochondria.
Anywho, the problem was not apparent till I stood up and realized I appeared to be listing to the left. Then I knew I had a fail with a vital piece of my undergarment’s superstructure.
This isn’t the first time I’ve unhinged an underwire, and unfortunately it’s not the first time I broke one at work. In fact over the years I have had many brassiere blow outs. Once time I snapped a strap while bartending, so all night long I was putting in a little extra buttery nipple every time I mixed a drink.
Luckily over the years I have learned my lesson and I travel prepared. In my MacGyver purse I keep safety pins for strap reattachments and hook ruptures. I keep tissues to pad the stabby end of a protruding underwire. And in case of a break-the-glass type emergency, I keep duct tape in the trunk of my car.
Note: Do not get duct tape on your areola.
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